


when I hold you in my arms

by neomeruru



Series: The Katsuki-Nikiforov Sex Palace [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Casual Sex, Dom!Yuuri, Facials, Fuckbuddies, Future Fic, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Open Relationship, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Phone Sex, Polyamory, Skype Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-04 20:47:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10289369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neomeruru/pseuds/neomeruru
Summary: Yuuri and Victor miss Chris when he's vacationing with Phichit in Madrid.Luckily, there's Skype for that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> /waves her tiny Chris/Phichit flag
> 
> guys, they closed the loop!!!
> 
> Takes place approximately two years after the last part, ~nine years after canon. Can be read as a standalone, if you don't mind the actual groundwork for Victor/Chris/Yuuri happening in the previous part of the series.
> 
> With thanks to Tchy and iambic for handholding.

Madrid is only two hours behind Saint Petersburg, where it's nearly midnight. When Phichit answers the video call, Yuuri's not surprised to see him and Chris sitting in a hotel bed together, wearing white bathrobes and surrounded by room service plates. The blinds are open to a city skyline that sparkles in the twilight.

" _Sawatdee khrap_ ," Yuuri says, then: "Oh, I'm not interrupting, am I?"

Phichit's smile is radiant, and the Spanish sun has brought out freckles that Detroit had never seen. He angles the phone camera so that Yuuri can see dinner laid out on the bed, and a generous amount of Chris's bare thighs under his robe. "No, we just got in," he says.

On the Saint Petersburg side, Victor drapes himself over the back of the couch and waves over Yuuri's shoulder into the camera. "Hey, Phichit," he says, then, significantly more heated, "Hey, Chris."

"Hey, you two," Chris replies, his voice distorted from being farther away from Phichit's phone. He's wearing his glasses, and cradling a mug of tea on a saucer. "How is Masya?"

Victor makes a sound of excitement and takes the phone from Yuuri's hands, taking it on a dizzying tour of the living room until he sets the camera on the giant black-and-brown dog sleeping by the fireplace. Yuuri hears Phichit and Chris exclaim happily through the tinny speakers. Masya, for her part, obliges by waking up just long enough to yawn and roll over, showing off her white belly. From the couch, all Yuuri can hear is the phone speaker maxing out into white noise.

"She's so big now!" Chris is saying as Victor hands the phone back to Yuuri.

"Yeah, she's almost full-grown," Yuuri says, folding his feet underneath him to sit cross-legged on the couch. "She ate a sock yesterday."

"Masya, no!" Phichit laughs.

Yuuri shrugs, smiling even as he remembers how upset Victor was. "It came back up. Which wasn't great, but at least we didn't have to go to the vet this time. How is Madrid?"

"Warm," Chris says, stretching out the word as sensuously as one can. The only reason he'd left Saint Petersburg this time was because summer in Russia was, in his words, 'exactly as one would expect' — and if Phichit happened to be planning to vacation in Spain at the same time, well. He could hardly have been blamed.

"We went sightseeing today," Phichit adds, "Ate a lot of food. Took pictures. You know, the usual. Tried, uh—"

" _Oreja a la plancha_ ," Chris supplies, his tongue rolling off the Spanish consonants easily. He pushes his glasses up his nose. "He won't try to pronounce it, so he's playing innocent; he's the one who found it and begged _me_ to try it."

"I saw the pictures," Yuuri says. Victor drops onto the couch beside him, draping his legs over Yuuri's lap as he taps away on his phone. Yuuri casts him a curious look, but Victor just smiles and turns his phone off, hiding it under his hands in his lap.

"I'm gonna teach this dinosaur how to fix his face when we're taking a selfie," Phichit pouts, then makes an exaggerated duck face. While Yuuri laughs, a chime goes off through the speakers, and Chris jumps slightly.

"I'm only six years older than you," Chris replies, taking out his phone and thumbing through it. He looks thoughtful, and his eyes dart to the camera almost as if he's looking right at Yuuri. Yuuri feels his stomach do that now-familiar flip as a slow smile crinkles at the edges of Chris's eyes.

"Six years! You hear this old man, Yuuri?" Phichit says, then turns to gesture to Chris. "What is it?" he asks, but Chris just purses his lips and kisses him wetly on the cheek, making plenty of noise as Phichit shrieks in indignation. The camera bounces wildly as the two clamor on the bed.

Yuuri tilts his screen so Victor can see. "Hmph," he snorts, fondly, putting his elbow on the back of the couch to watch.

When the camera stabilizes, Phichit's hair is askew and Chris is tucked under his arm, looking back over his shoulder at Yuuri with a mischievous smile. His hand is on Phichit's chest, fingertips trailing over the bare, smooth skin revealed by the gap in the bathrobe.

" _Rude_ boy," Phichit says, scritching the undercut side of Chris's head. "I don't know what you see in him."

"He grows on you," Yuuri replies, though his eyes follow Chris as he extracts himself from under Phichit's arm and disappears off-camera.

"Like a wart," Phichit supplies, helpfully.

"I've always thought of it more like a callus," Yuuri concedes.

He sees, more than hears, Phichit's non-reaction: his eyes dart off camera and fix on a point outside of Yuuri's line of sight. Yuuri watches him wet his lips, catching the bottom one in his teeth.

"Huh. Yuuri," he says, slowly. "Why is Victor's boyfriend taking off his clothes?"

There's movement out of the corner of Yuuri's eye, and it's with a little thrill of pleasure that he slowly turns his head to Victor. Victor, who has four of his shirt buttons undone and is working on the last, baring the pale expanse of his chest. Victor, who catches Yuuri's eye and _smirks_ as he trails his fingers up his chest, up his neck, and presses them to his open lips.

Yuuri's heart thuds in his chest, a beat that goes right to his groin. "I'll ask Victor," he says, as his husband pushes two fingers into his mouth. His eyes are lidded, but he keeps Yuuri's gaze as he sucks on his fingers.

"He says, tell him more about what Chris is doing," Yuuri says, tearing his eyes away from Victor to look at Phichit on the screen. Their eyes don't meet, in that strange way they never do during a video call, but it's fine — Yuuri knows that playful smile is for him, Phichit's eyes glittering with promise.

"Oh, did he? Well, you can tell him his boyfriend is naked and kneeling at the edge of the bed," Phichit says. There's laughter behind his teeth. "Actually, no, he's crawling up between my legs."

Victor lets out a little moan around his fingers. Yuuri drops his free hand to Victor's knee and squeezes. "He likes that," he says.

"I'm beginning to think he has impure intentions," Phichit replies.

"No," comes Chris's voice, faint and off-camera. "Me?"

Phichit laughs and Yuuri can hear Chris join in; on the Saint Petersburg side, Victor leans forward and tilts Yuuri's head to kiss. His lips are wet and inviting, his tongue inquisitive as he runs it along the seam of Yuuri's lips.

A quiet sigh escapes Victor as Yuuri opens to him, and he wraps his arm around Yuuri's shoulders to pull himself in closer. Yuuri obliges, tilting their heads so their lips slide together, open, artless, letting Victor kiss and lick his way into his mouth.

When Victor pulls away, his eyes are dark, his cheeks are red and his lips — oh, even more red, and that's a look Yuuri wants to devour, and he chases Victor's kiss with one more, catching his lower lip in his teeth.

"Mmm," Victor hums, and Yuuri salves the hurt with his tongue. "Watch the screen," he murmurs, then slides out of Yuuri's lap and onto the floor.

Victor sidles in between Yuuri's legs, leaning in to run his lips over the clothed swell of his arousal, and it's only with great difficulty that Yuuri tears his eyes away from Victor's mouth. On the screen, Phichit is in a similar state. Yuuri can see the back of Chris's head as he kisses Phichit's throat, the flash of white teeth and pink tongue as he sucks a bite into the slender column of his neck.

He'd normally check in. He'd normally look for something, anything, some eye contact or a smile or a nod, some point of connection — he craves it, the acknowledgement, the agreement. But Yuuri's enthralled by the trusting tilt of Phichit's head, the way his eyes have shut and his mouth has opened around a quiet groan as Chris bruises his dark skin with his teeth.

It's been a while. A lifetime. Phichit's changed since college, and Yuuri's changed even more, and never in his life has Yuuri missed the time when he and Phichit shared — well, more than a bedroom. And yet, Yuuri is transported back in time to that dorm room, to bending their heads together on one pillow at night, to Phichit's patient hands and his easy smile and his giving mouth.

Their dorm room never had Victor Nikiforov on his knees, which is something that brings Yuuri back to reality. In this timeline, Victor has fixed his mouth over Yuuri's lounge pants and is sucking, laving Yuuri's cock through the thin fabric. Victor's eyes meet his as he pulls his lips back from his teeth and lightly scrapes them, slow and with intent, down the curve of him. Yuuri hisses through his teeth and wills himself to be much more naked, quickly.

Two thousand miles away, Chris must have the same idea; the video feed sways as he pulls away from Phichit, and Yuuri can tell his hands are working, just off-camera, at the tie of Phichit's bathrobe. He slides his hands up Phichit's sides, baring his smooth chest to the camera.

Phichit, ever the consummate artist with a forward-facing camera, angles the phone so Yuuri can see a generous swath of his chest, bracketed on one side with Phichit looking up at the camera and on the other with Chris kissing his way down Phichit's stomach. The bathrobe pools on either side under Chris's hands.

And this, too, is different: the breadth of Phichit's chest now, the flexible whip-thin body of his youth given way to a geometric strength. His abdominal muscles clench into definition as he drops one hand from the phone to thumb the silver barbell set into his nipple. When he looks up at Yuuri through the screen, his face is coy, but... familiar. Yuuri finds himself smiling at the rush of nostalgia.

"Yuuri, I think they have a plan," Phichit says.

Yuuri moves the camera just slightly over his head so that Victor comes into the frame. "Yeah, I think so," he says, a little surprised at how high and thready his voice is already. The fabric over his cock is soaked and dark under Victor's mouth, visible even on the thumbnail Yuuri can see on his screen.

Victor moves away a few inches, enough that Yuuri's cock springs upward and tents his pants, then leans in to nuzzle it. His eyes dart up to the screen, then over to Yuuri, holding his gaze with a question as he slides his hands up Yuuri's thighs and hooks his fingers in the waistband of his pants.

"Yuuri, I wanna see," Phichit cajoles, even as Yuuri is already nodding.

"Make sure Chris can see," Victor murmurs, dragging the waistband down slowly to reveal the dark thatch of Yuuri's hair and just the base of his cock. Yuuri has to maneuver his hips to slide the waistband past his seat, but he notices Victor watching the screen, waiting for Chris's rapt attention, before pulling them the rest of the way.

Yuuri can feel Victor's breath on his damp skin like a chill, his lips wet and rough-looking from dragging them across the fabric. Yuuri's reached out before his mind catches up, running his thumb along his husband's lips. Victor kisses the pad of his thumb and looks up at him through blonde lashes, and a jolt of affection and desire rockets through Yuuri, makes his dick sway with how badly — how suddenly — he wants Victor's bare mouth on him.

Yuuri crooks his thumb, hooking Victor's lower teeth, and Victor opens his mouth obligingly. The pad of Yuuri's thumb scrapes over his molars for just a moment before Victor closes his lips around him.

"Well, what are you waiting for," Phichit says, making Yuuri jump guiltily. Victor's hand comes up and circles his wrist, keeping him in place, his tongue firm on the underside of Yuuri's thumb. On the screen, Phichit isn't looking at Yuuri at all; Yuuri can only see the curve of his cheekbone as he looks down at Chris.

The expression on Chris's face is open, unguarded. Nearly gentle, if one can make gentleness look like desire. Chris can, and does. His tongue comes out to wet his lips. "I'm waiting for Yuuri," he confesses.

A tremor swoops through Yuuri's stomach, not unpleasantly. Chris is a falcon that deigns to return to the hand, and neither Yuuri nor Victor has tried to keep him. He knows Chris and Phichit aren't exactly _unacquainted_ with each other, but Yuuri's never pushed. To be invited, though — that's something.

Phichit's other hand comes into the frame and cradles Chris's cheek. "Shy all of a sudden, Giacometti?" he teases, "Need your boyfriend to tell you it's okay?"

Chris turns his head a little, snapping his teeth at the fleshy part of Phichit's hand. Phichit slides it back into Chris's hair, and Chris's eyes drift shut. "No," he murmurs, "but it's fun, isn't it?"

Phichit's laughter is gentle, and a little self-deprecating. "Yeah, it is," he replies, petting Chris's head. "So what do you think, Yuuri? What should I have him do?"

Victor's mouth slides off of Yuuri's thumb, and his eyes are temptation itself as he bends his head to ghost his lips across Yuuri's cock. Waiting. Yuuri feels the weight of his eyes like a physical jolt, all of his pieces clicking into place.

He pushes Victor's fringe away from his face, threading his fingers through the fine silver strands like cornsilk. Victor's eyes flutter, but don't close. "Hold his hair," Yuuri says, softly. He and Phichit have never played this game. But he knows, he feels, that Phichit is less like Chris and Victor, and more of a partner in crime — which is so apt, considering. "Be my hands for me," Yuuri says, after.

Chris's appreciative groan echoes through the phone speaker as Phichit slides his hand from the soft brown undercut to the even softer curls on top. Yuuri drags his fingernails over Victor's scalp, consciously mirroring the gesture. Phichit's hand closes on a fistful of blonde hair, and the tendons in Chris's neck stand out in relief as he pulls against the resistance.

"Are you gonna be a little shit today, or what?" Phichit goads him, tugging Chris's head so it jerks a little to the side. "Yuuri's watching."

Even on the tiny screen, thousands of kilometers away, Yuuri can see the way the blood rushes to Chris's cheeks. Between his legs, Victor's breathing takes on a sound somewhere in the same vicinity as a whine, and his fingers close on the meat of Yuuri's calves.

Yuuri exhales, and shifts a little until his butt rests on the edge of the couch. "No, he likes it," he says, tracing the wet swell of Victor's lips with his thumb one more time. Victor's tongue comes out, delicately, reverently, to touch the pad of it. Yuuri presses it to his own lips, a long distance kiss.

He sets the phone on his thigh, steadying it with his left hand. On the screen, Chris looks back at him with dark eyes; between his legs, Victor's mouth is parted and wanting. The dual image makes Yuuri lightheaded with memory and desire, a full body rush. He licks his lips, swallows heavily.

"Open your mouth," he says. "Lick the— the underside."

Chris's full lips part and his tongue flattens against the underside of Phichit's cock. He drags it up the whole length, flicking just the pointed tip under the head. And at the same time, Victor presses a wet kiss at the base of Yuuri's cock, dragging it up in a slide of soft lips and tongue.

Yuuri can hear Phichit's breathing stutter appreciatively, and it's impossible to not do the same, not with the stereo vision of Chris and Victor both on his knees for him.

Yuuri presses the heel of his palm against his lips, into his teeth. The possibilities are dizzying, too much to condense into words, too much to capture in his brain. "Pretend it's me," is what comes out of his mouth.

He sees the smile in duplicate, but Victor — Victor's smile is teasing as he runs his lips along the sensitive underside of Yuuri's crown. _Pretend?_ he mouths silently, raising one elegant eyebrow.

Yuuri feels his mouth set in a firm line. "Suck me," he commands, flitting his eyes back to Chris on the screen. He knows — he knows Chris is looking up at Phichit, how the phone must be oriented so Phichit can film it the way he is, but the knowledge gets filed away in the part of his brain concerned with modern things. The part of Yuuri that lies dormant, the part that _wants_ , speaks now: "Do it slow. Show me how much you like it."

Chris's eyes flutter closed, a soft groan filtering over the tinny phone speakers as he kisses the head of Phichit's cock with an open mouth. He does go slow, lips soft and indulgent as he sucks just the head.

Between Yuuri's legs, Victor bends to him and does the same, running his tongue flat and wet up Yuuri's length, pausing only to lave the head with filthy kisses. Yuuri slips his hand into Victor's hair again, gathering it away from his face — not pushing, just cradling the back of his neck, feeling the tendons wax and wane under his hand. Victor meets his eyes, blowing him a kiss before taking him in his mouth.

"Nngh," Yuuri articulates, flexing his fingers in Victor's hair. On the screen, Chris is working his way down Phichit's cock, alternating sucking the head and mouthing kisses down the shaft, his tongue peeking out on either side. It's messy, slow, just the way he likes to have Chris on his knees. Through his thick lashes Yuuri can see his dark green eyes looking back, as if he can see Yuuri watching him in return.

Phichit's fingers brush the curls off his forehead, and Yuuri's hands flex again with the urge to touch. He watches Phichit dance his fingertips over Chris's brow, down his straight beautiful nose, touching them to Chris's lips distended around him. He takes himself in hand and lifts his cock out of Chris's reach, revealing the curl of Chris's waiting smile, and taps himself against Chris's lips, the side of his mouth, smearing against his cheek, making Chris chase him to take him in his mouth again.

He repeats the gesture, and again, until Chris is greedy for the chase, capturing Phichit's cock again and sliding down it with a growl. Yuuri can see his throat work as he hits the untested limit of mouth alone.

Yuuri pushes lightly on the back of Victor's neck, urging him down. Victor flashes him a grin — he can hear even better than Yuuri what's happening on screen — and takes him in deeper. Yuuri's body stiffens and relaxes again, shuddering under the pleasure of Victor's tongue pressing against him, the measured scape of his teeth, of the feeling of the back of Victor's throat sliding smooth and hot over him.

Chris and Victor move in syncopated rhythm, matching imperfectly: Chris on screen, Victor present and real in Yuuri's lap. Victor's hands slide up Yuuri's legs, curling around to rest on his thighs, fingers digging in. Yuuri can feel the soft muscle of his inner thighs quiver, hips moving even as Victor holds him down.

On screen, Chris has swallowed all of Phichit down, his lips pressed against the dark curl of hair at the join of Phichit's thighs. His eyes are closed in pleasure and exertion, nostrils flaring, breathing in deep and watery when he pulls back only to delve down again, bobbing his head at the end. Phichit's voice is thready, little cut-off bits of praise and blasphemy falling breathless from his lips as Chris works the craft he loves best on him.

Yuuri's core clenches, hot and desiring. On him, Victor's mouth is sheer pleasure, warm and loving and so tender — a warm feeling radiates outward from where they're joined, the feeling of being so known, so seen. Victor works him in all the ways he knows Yuuri likes best: the little flick of his tongue when he withdraws, the sweet kisses he drops all over him between taking him in his mouth again. 

One of Victor's hands slides up, over Yuuri's hip, fingertips running over the little dip of Yuuri's lower abdomen. The other slides down between his legs, knuckles brushing the shadowed place under his balls. Slowly, rhythmically, Victor moves his hands in time with his mouth, pressing in and down, massaging Yuuri's core as he swallows his cock down.

"Oh, _oh_ , fu—" Yuuri stutters, only by a small but heroic margin not thrusting up into Victor's talented mouth, the tight clench of his throat. Victor moans around him, pressing harder, eyes closed, blonde eyelashes fluttering as he chases down Yuuri's orgasm. Yuuri feels pinned, observed. He gasps, vision swimming, hears the blood roaring in his ears, struggles under Victor's hold until the pressure building in him releases, like the first sharp crack of lightning in a hot summer storm.

"Don't— don't swallow—" he manages, just before he spends himself in Victor's hot mouth. Victor's eyes close as he takes a deep breath through his nose. A single drop winds out the side of his mouth as he pulls off slowly, but he makes no move to wipe it off, just settles between Yuuri's legs and waits, hands folded in his lap. Even with his mouth full, he looks proud.

Yuuri scrubs his face with his hand, groaning with the aftershocks of pleasure. He blinks, bleary-eyed, at the phone.

"I turned the camera around for it," Phichit says, his voice dark and trembling in his throat. Chris stares back at Yuuri, desire for him writ plain across his face even as he works Phichit's cock with mouth and hand. He groans and breaks Yuuri's gaze, the flush across his cheeks dark and revealing.

Yuuri exhales, loud and tremulous, and gestures to Victor. "Up, up," he says, helping Victor clamber into his lap, legs to either side. He flips the phone camera around to face Victor, watching the pale planes of Victor's abdomen fill the screen, soft and out of focus as the camera adjusts. He pulls the drawstring of Victor's lounge pants, stretches the waistband out and down so it cups Victor's cock, which is already flushed and hard just from blowing Yuuri.

Yuuri gives Chris an eyeful of that, before tilting the camera up to Victor's face. His face is the same colour, distended cheeks rosy. His lips are quivering.

"Spit," Yuuri says, gently, cupping his hand under Victor's mouth. Victor bends his head gratefully, opens his mouth to let Yuuri's spend drip into his palm. "Good," Yuuri says, just as gently, and Victor laughs a little breathlessly, swallowing thickly around the rest.

Yuuri drops his hand to Victor's cock, wasting no time in being precious. He curls his palm around the head, spreading his come and Victor's saliva as he strokes up and down. His grip is firm, and Victor's back arches as he scrabbles for Yuuri's shoulders. "Nn, _Yuu-ri_ ," he groans, hips bucking into Yuuri's grip, settling eventually into a slow sinuous thrust as Yuuri lets him fuck the circle of his hand.

Yuuri angles the phone in his left hand so the little preview screen frames Victor perfectly, capturing the wet slide of his cockhead through Yuuri's fingers. Chris's gaze is electric on the main screen, a strangled noise dying in his throat as he takes Phichit in his mouth. 

Phichit's fingers wind their way into Chris's curls again, taking a fistful and holding tight. Chris's eyes flick off-screen and he leans into the grasp, jaw slack, and Phichit thrusts into his mouth — shallow at first, using the give of Chris's spit-slick lips, then deeper.

"Yuuri— let me see," Victor gasps. Yuuri flips the phone around so Victor can see Phichit using Chris's mouth and his hips stutter, change their pace as he fucks Yuuri's hand in time. He taps the screen, changing the camera to face forward so Chris can watch him too.

Yuuri holds the camera diligently as Victor grabs his shoulders again, his nails digging sharp little furrows into Yuuri's skin as he scrabbles for purchase. He stares entranced at Victor's face: the way his blush spreads from his cheeks down his chest, a bead of sweat as it trickles slowly down his temple, the laughing wrinkles around his eyes deepening. Victor sucks his lower lip between his teeth, biting down as his breath comes out needy and wanting.

The sound coming from the speakers is equally obscene, the wet sound of Chris's mouth mixing with Phichit's drawn-out moan as he fucks Chris's face. Victor's eyes are fixed on the screen, matching Phichit's pace. Yuuri hears more than sees when Phichit comes, and feels the way Victor tenses and fumbles at the asynchronicity.

Victor makes a frustrated noise in his throat, and Yuuri strokes him gently, coaxing him to relax. Victor sighs and bends forward until his forehead touches Yuuri's.

Yuuri runs fingers up and down Victor's length, cradling the head in his palm, working him slow and sure. In his other hand, he flips the phone around one more time so they can both see the screen. Chris's face is flushed and streaked with come, all over his red lips. He winks at the two of them, turning his head for Phichit's thumb sliding across his cheek and scooping the mess into his mouth. Victor groans.

"Ssh," Yuuri soothes, rubbing his thumb along the underside of Victor's cock. Victor shudders, boneless, suffering in the liminal space between action and release.

Phichit wipes the rest of the come from Chris's face and offers it to him, and Chris sucks it clean with plenty of teeth. Phichit laughs and cuffs him lightly, sticking up all the hair on one side. "Watch your dentures," he says, and Chris's eyes go wide with affront.

Chris shoots up and blows all his breath out on Phichit's flat stomach, sending the camera feed into a riot of shrieking and wrestling. It settles on the bed at an oblique angle, capturing how Chris pins Phichit into the pillows and kisses him roughly, hands encircling his upper arms. Yuuri can practically hear their teeth click.

With a triumphant noise, Chris pulls back and pushes Phichit down with a broad hand flat on his chest. With the other, he fishes the phone out of the bedsheets and angles it so Phichit fills the screen.

"Hey," Phichit says, waving gamely. His hair is strewn out over a chaotic pile of white hotel pillows, body framed by rumpled sheets and the discarded bathrobe. A room service plate slides into the dip formed by his body, and he pushes it away with a little laugh. "I wanna be Yuuri more often," he says, tracing idle patterns over his chest with slack fingers.

"Yuuri gets to come," Victor mutters under his breath, kissing him on the temple. Yuuri flexes his hand and Victor hisses through his teeth.

The camera feed sways, pulling back a little to show off Chris's thighs straddling Phichit's waist, the indecent jut of his hard cock. It's a classic dick pic pose — Yuuri and Victor both have a few on their phones, though none with Phichit sprawled out relaxed and languid underneath. Other people, sure; Chris loves to share.

Chris spits in his hand and runs it, flat, down the top of his cock, grasping the head in a firm grip. He moans appreciatively and pumps his hand up and down a few times for effect.

"You're not dirty enough to be Yuuri," he says, and Phichit laughs, getting up on his elbows to chase Chris's hand with his mouth. He flattens his tongue, looking up at the camera so the aperture makes him look doe-eyed as Chris's cock rests in his open mouth. "All right," Chris concedes, wryly. "Fuck, all right, give me a second."

Yuuri settles back on the couch, getting comfortable. The protesting noise that comes out of Victor borders on a whine as he sits up straighter on Yuuri's lap.

"I didn't say you could come," Yuuri says, mildly. Chris's hand pauses on his cock, before going again more slowly. "Look at how Victor's waiting," Yuuri continues, angling the camera to take in the anguished line of Victor perched on his thighs, stretched out under Yuuri's hand. One of Victor's hands is behind himself, gripping Yuuri's knee; the other trails up his stomach, circles a flushed pink nipple and rolls it in his fingers.

 _Good,_ Yuuri mouths up at him, and Victor smiles prettily as he tips his head back. The line of his body from jaw to chest to cock to thigh is sin, sculpted out of marble. He thrusts slowly into Yuuri's grip, undulating; the pleasure of performance isn't lost on either of them, and not on Chris either, if the moan that tumbles from off-camera is any indication.

"I should make you wait, just because," Yuuri says. Not like he has any intention to, but the idea of it makes Chris's hand clench, and that's a rewarding feeling in itself.

"He's been awfully mean to me," Phichit pouts.

"I sucked your dick, you little shi— ah, _ah_ ," Chris gasps, as Phichit takes the head of his cock into his mouth and sucks, hard. 

Victor drops both hands behind him to balance on Yuuri's knees, arching his back as his chin tips down to his heaving chest. "I'm close," he grits through his teeth. Wetness beads up from under his eyelashes. Yuuri strokes him firmly, steadily, rubbing his thumb at the sensitive place that makes Victor's thighs tremble.

"You can at least wait until Victor comes, right?" Yuuri asks, as Victor moans loudly.

"Ah, _nngh_ ," is Chris's response, as more of his length disappears into Phichit's mouth. The video jostles as Phichit takes the phone in hand, cradling it above his head. Yuuri can hear the short absence of sound as Phichit takes a screenshot.

In Yuuri's hand, Victor's cock has gone tight and rock hard, fairly pulsing with Victor's need to come. He squeezes and pumps his hand, drawing it out, relishing the way it completely removes all limitations Victor has on his volume. The noise that he wrings from Victor is only just barely this side of a shout, and lingers as Victor finally comes, tumbling down the scales as spend spatters Yuri's shirt.

Yuuri strokes him through it, smearing around the bit of come that's landed on his hand. Victor's cock sputters gamely, the final drops winding down Yuuri's wrist. Victor's abdomen clenches, whole body heaving as Yuuri takes him right to the limit of post-orgasmic sensitivity and stops. He runs his fingers lightly down Victor's shaft and scritches the thatch of light hair at the base. Victor laughs, shakily, still breathless, and bats him away.

Through the phone, Chris's voice is tortured. "Yuuri, please," he begs. "I'm so close."

"Oh, I guess," Yuuri says, waving his hand dismissively. Victor catches his wrist and brings it to his mouth, eyes hooded as he gazes down at the screen, angling so there's no way Chris can't see the way he licks up the spend that's dripping down Yuuri's wrist.

"Ah, _God_ ," Chris curses.

"You can let him come, Phichit," Yuuri concedes.

Phichit pulls off and opens his mouth, tonguing the underside of Chris's cock again. For his part, Chris groans and strokes himself a few more times until he comes, painting Phichit's tongue with milky white spend. Phichit laughs and licks Chris's cock before swallowing, then opens his mouth to show off for the camera.

Victor wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, lacing the other through Yuuri's fingers. "You two are like a porno," he says, teasing.

" _Va te faire enculer_ , Nikiforov," Chris curses again, falling back on the bed and letting his legs stretch out on either side of Phichit's torso. His chest heaves as he gasps for breath. "I had to wait so fucking long for this one, I'll have him however I like."

The video feed sways as Phichit giggles. "Ask Yuuri first," he teases.

Chris flips Phichit his middle finger and collapses completely back onto the bed. Phichit's foot comes into the frame and lands square on Chris's softening dick, making Chris jump and swing wildly at Phichit with hands and legs, cursing even more. Eventually he has to retreat off the bed altogether, clearly at a disadvantage.

Phichit turns the camera so it faces him, and wriggles around until he gets a luxurious amount of pillows back under him again. Yuuri can hear the tap running in the adjoining bathroom. Phichit runs his hand through his hair. "Thank you for dessert," he sings, making kissy faces at the screen.

Victor snorts as he extricates himself from Yuuri's lap, carefully stretching out his knees as he sits down on the couch. One leg stays over Yuuri's, and Yuuri rests his other hand on it, kneading the muscle that knots up right above the kneecap. "Like a porno," Victor mutters again, shaking his head fondly. "Next time I'll just tell him to show up with a pizza."

"I knew it was your idea!" Phichit crows, pointing his finger at Victor through the camera.

Victor slides his hand between the couch cushions, retrieving his phone. He turns it on and the text message screen pops up. He shows it to Phichit, and by extension, Yuuri: the last text message sent reads only: _race you_.

"Don't you make fun of _us_ , you dirty pervert!" Phichit laughs. Victor just shrugs and clicks his phone off, slipping it into the pocket of his pants with a coy smile.

"Victor," Yuuri says, and as if on command Victor leans in to kiss him on the cheek. He helps Yuuri pull off his soiled shirt, then wraps his arms around Yuuri's shoulders and rests their heads against each other.

"Thanks, Phichit," Victor says, seriously.

Phichit waves his hand at the screen. "It's nothing. He won't shut up about you two anyway, it's not like you weren't here already."

Victor groans and covers his face with his hand. The blush, which had subsided with some rest, roars back to life on his face. "I'm sorry," he mutters.

"It's _fine_ ," Phichit laughs. "I'm just saying, I know a lot about your preferences in touristy bullshit, now."

Victor, love-struck, buries his head in Yuuri's neck and doesn't look up again. "Thanks for taking care of him," Yuuri says to Phichit.

"I feel like I'm supposed to say—" Chris's voice comes from off-camera, joined by the man himself as he crawls into bed beside Phichit, sending room service plates scattering. "I'm a grown man, I can take care of myself," he intones. Phichit slings his arm over his shoulder and Chris slides down to rest his body in the space it makes. "But I do miss you," he says, plainly.

"Miss you too," Victor and Yuuri reply at the same time, Victor's voice muffled in the crook of Yuuri's neck.

Phichit pets the side of Chris's head and wisely doesn't say anything at all.

After a while, Chris clears his throat and sits up a little. "Anyway. We're good, yes?"

Yuuri smiles. "I know you have a thing with Phichit, Chris. I was possibly the _first_ person to know that."

"And yet, knowledge is a different beast than…" Chris trails off, gesturing to their naked bodies in bed together.

Yuuri nudges Victor's head off his shoulder. "We're good," Victor replies.

"Yeah," Chris says, rubbing his face with the heel of his hand. "Good. Uh — we check out tomorrow and then we're taking the night train to Lisbon, so it'll be a few more days before we have wi-fi again. This'll be goodbye for a bit."

"Okay," Yuuri says, rubbing his cheek on the top of Victor's head.

"Take pictures," Victor says.

"Send pictures of Masya," Chris adds.

"Bye, you two," Phichit finishes, prompting another round of goodbyes offset by the video delay. Chris and Phichit are waving when Victor reaches over the presses the 'end call' button, frozen for a few moments before Yuuri's lock screen — Victor and Masya when she was a puppy — comes up.

Victor sighs and wraps his arms more tightly around Yuuri's shoulders. Quick to head off the melancholia before it takes root, Yuuri nudges him with his elbow until Victor squirms away. " _Race you_?" he quotes, incredulously.

Victor laughs and runs his fingers through his fringe, settling it back into place. "It worked, didn't it?" he replies, with a shrug.

Yuuri leans in to kiss him. "It was a good idea, thank you," he says, and Victor hums in response. Yuuri finds his other hand and entwines their fingers together, and wishes he could make the distance sting a little less. As it is, they have each other, and Masya, and a backlog of movies, and video calling. Until Chris comes home again, it'll have to do.

**Author's Note:**

> I write! I draw! I make julienne fries! Your comments literally sustain me! Join me [on Tumblr](http://chaoslindsay.tumblr.com) for my fanart and other stuff!
> 
> This fic is remix-friendly: I give blanket permission for non-commercial translations, podfics, remixes, inspired fanfic, and fanart! Just let me know where you put it, so I can make sure others see it too!


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